


one of these days, we will

by cotton2something (evergreen_melancholy)



Category: Football RPF
Genre: Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Coping, FIFA World Cup 2014, FIFA World Cup 2018, Fluff and Angst, German National Team, I'm still not over their exit so I wrote this, Intimacy, Loss, M/M, Thomas trying to hang on to what's left, there's some fumbling in a locker room
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-07-02
Updated: 2018-07-02
Packaged: 2019-06-01 06:40:36
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,301
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15137333
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/evergreen_melancholy/pseuds/cotton2something
Summary: The shock and pain of seeing Manuel cry on the pitch for the first time still lingers, and Thomas never wants to see a sight like that again. What he does now—what they do now—is utterly and completely lost to him. He’s still too ashamed of the result of the match (and himself) to look into pretty blue eyes that he knows will be soft and understanding.





	one of these days, we will

As Thomas sits alone in the cold and empty locker room, everything about his failed World Cup run seems to mock him all at once. Not advancing out of the group stages—not breaking Miro’s record—not living up to his _role_ , his _name_ , his own… _values_. But most importantly, he didn’t— _couldn’t_ —make his captain proud. The shock and pain of seeing Manuel cry on the pitch for the first time still lingers, and Thomas never wants to see a sight like that again. What he does now—what _they_ do now—is utterly and completely lost to him.

He’s so lost and cornered in his thoughts that he doesn’t notice the figure leaning against the doorframe, arms crossed and mouth tight. Another empty sob from his chest breaks the silence. He doesn’t look up even when he hears the shifting of fabric as the figure takes a cautious step—he’s still too ashamed of the result of the match (and himself) to look into pretty blue eyes that he knows will be soft and understanding.

“They’re missing you upstairs,” Manuel says softly next to him. Thomas still doesn’t look at him. “Everyone thinks that you already went to sleep, but…I knew you’d still be here,” Manuel finishes.

Thomas still doesn’t budge, eyes still focused on the dirty tiles of the floor. Next to him, Manuel sighs.

“Thomas,” Manuel starts. “I know you’re upset, but…”

“But _what_?” he finally replies. He doesn’t even bother to hide the bitterness in his voice and makes a point to not look at the wince on Manuel’s face. His mouth is moving on its own now and he’s not going to stop the floodgates anytime soon.

“What is there? What’s the point of this? 4 years ago and 4 years now, winning the whole way back then and losing when we haven’t even begun—where is it? _What_ is it? Do you see any point to this? We were World Champions and now we’re—we’re—I don’t even know _what_ we are. What’s the point of winning like that 4 years ago and then coming back like this 4 years later when our hard work will just be pegged off to any other country who’ll take it again? We’ll put our heads down, suffer this defeat, and then promise to everyone that we’ll get it again—4 years later. _4 years later_ and who knows if you and I will be even playing? Do you see a _point_ to this? Because I don’t.”

He’s surprised at the amount of anger and emotions that came out of his own body—his mind was a mess and he wasn’t even capable of coherent thought, but now that everything’s spilling out, he can’t help but feel guilty at having to put his captain through this. He knows that he’s not the only one hurting—he knows that inside, his captain is at war with himself, especially with South Korea’s second goal and him not being at his post.

“ _I’m sorry_ ,” he says. He tries to smile, but falters. Every emotion is stained with sadness.

“It’s okay,” Manuel says. He’s still next to him. “You can let it all out.” Thomas thins his lips a little at that—he couldn’t just spill it out and then act like nothing happened. This isn’t something that you can just spill out—its something that’ll plague him for a long time.

“No, I’m fi—“

“ _Thomas_ ,” Manuel says sharply.

The hardness of his voice betrays his calmness, and Thomas knows that he’s definitely hurting too. More silence passes, and Manuel sighs. Thomas finally looks up at the goalkeeper ( _pretty blue eyes still soft and understanding like Thomas imagined earlier_ ) and lets out a shaky breath. He’s tired. He wants to lean on Manuel, wants to reach out to hug Manuel, wants to be brought back to happier times with no tension and happy laughs with Manuel, but he’s not sure if he deserves that right now. He’s not sure if he deserves anything.

A warm palm presses softly against his cheek, followed by another palm on the curve of his shoulder.

“Thomas,” Manuel repeats, softer this time. _Gentler_.

Thomas leans into the touch, closes his eyes when he feels Manuel’s breath on the side of his face. Lets out a shaky breath he didn’t know he was holding when Manuel tugs him close and rests his forehead in the crook of his neck.

“We can’t just leave Russia like this,” Thomas whispers into the darkness of the room. He shifts his head and rests his forehead on Manuel’s soft hair instead. “We didn’t even leave a mark.”

“You win some,” Manuel says softly— _wetly_ (into the crook of Thomas’ neck). Thomas shivers. “And then you lose some.”

“We sure picked a bad one to lose, then,” Thomas replies, breath hitching when Manuel mouths up the soft skin beneath his ear, leaving a trail of warm, wet heat. The heat blossoms throughout him and pools below his stomach and he reaches out to hold Manuel tighter against him as the larger man climbs on top of him.

The locker room is filled with his ragged breathing now, and he’s grateful for the lack of words (but also a knowing silence) that envelops them as they fumble in the dark for closure after their loss. It’s a way of licking their wounds, but there is no doubt in Thomas’ mind that it’ll sting again later. He brings his own arms up and around Manuel’s waist, taking in the warmth and intimacy of the moment.

“You’re eager today,” Thomas comments as Manuel’s large hands slip under them hem of his shirt. Usually their roles are reversed—Manuel’s never been one to actively start their intimate activities, yielding only when Thomas had him spread out in his bedsheets, deft hands peeling back layers of clothing and revealing the pale skin beneath. And even then, it took coaxing ( _usually with Thomas’ mouth_ ) and a build-up of heat ( _also with Thomas’ mouth_ ) to get the other man to participate. Manuel would say afterwards that it was because he didn’t want to be sore the day after, but Thomas knows that his captain is stupidly shy in matters like this. It's cute though, and it makes up for it when he sees the content in Manuel’s face after, cheeks prettily flushed and eyes heavy and hooded from pleasure and satisfaction.

“You said we didn’t leave a mark in Russia,” Manuel says, matter-of-factly. He’s hovering over Thomas now, face flushed and needy and Thomas sees a glint in the goalkeeper’s eye. He (finally) smiles softly, understanding and knowing what’s coming next.

“So you’re gonna leave some on _me_?” Thomas asks, heart beating faster in his chest at the thought of finally being able to touch Manuel again.

His captain doesn’t reply, and Thomas thinks that he probably doesn’t need one. The marks that’ll appear on his skin later will speak volumes for him, and Thomas will make his own mark onto Manuel after they’ve gone back up and settled into the captain’s (larger, _single_ ) room. Until then, he’ll let his heart bleed onto his sleeve, for he knows that Manuel will be there with the bandage. He just doesn’t know what’ll happen once they need to be changed, and he realizes this later in the midst of their passion. It’s just _them_ now. With his old teammates from 4 years ago gone and retired, he wonders how much longer he’ll have with Manuel as well. It’s a thought that terrifies Thomas, and he desperately prays that the day never comes. He'll keep running and scoring until he'll be damned when it happens.

_He knows, but until then, he’ll hold on to his captain for as long as he can._

**Author's Note:**

> my heart still aches and seeing Manu cry after that match didn't help either. 
> 
> Here's hoping to 4 years later...and still being able to see "Neuer" and the #1 on the pitch at the international level.
> 
> Thank you always for reading <3


End file.
